


On Providence

by HardingHightown



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Sexual Content, flirtation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 04:07:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4005274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HardingHightown/pseuds/HardingHightown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Samson has a surprising connection in the Blooming Rose.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On Providence

**Author's Note:**

> A drabble that got away from me and went in a totally different direction. Please look up Gaider’s own views on the character of Serendipity before commenting.

There was pain in his bones, pain and cold and an aching he couldn’t quite tie down, but here it was warm, with a beauty with a kind smile and a bed to sit on. A real bed. It had been months since any such comfort had been given to him. Why did he suddenly deserve it now?

“I should give you something.” he started, shuffling uncomfortably in the silky sheets.

“I was counting on you giving me plenty, Samson.”

Serendipity didn’t need to do this. He wasn’t ever asking for charity. But the business with Olivia had made all of them see him in that way again, that hazy sweet light that shone on him when they heard about Maddox in the first place. Romanticisation, that’s what they call it. Seeing the good in it all, casting him as some sort of hero. That wasn’t it. It was just… the right thing to do. Not something special, not even something really done for the heroism of it. Samson wasn’t the romantic sort, he didn’t fit, wasn't the type, not really. Not like some of those other templars. They'd called him Ser once, but he was no knight from a story.

“I can’t afford you,” He mumbled, desperate to fill the silence between them, that clawing feeling that he wasn’t really as heroic as all this made out. It was fine when it was for laughs, on the floor in the Blooming Rose. It was good to be standing there in full view of all of those bastards still in plate, to remind them of what could happen to them, what was likely to if Meredith caught them playing at it. And it was good to see Thrask. To see him. To… apologise.

Maker, there was no point dwelling on that. Not now. Not here in a room with the Seneshal’s darling.

Bloody hell, he really couldn’t afford her. Not in any way. Not in gold or station or risk of getting used to this again, a roof and warmth and a bed and somebody close by.

“You certainly can’t afford Serendipity,” she laughed, that rich voice booming. “But you’re not getting her.”

She sat at the dresser by the far wall, chucking over a sealed letter to him as she started to unlace her corsetry. He took a look at the front of the letter. It was Thrask’s hand, for certain. Opening it, he saw it contained a simple message.

_Samson,_

_Thank you for all that you did. It was very brave of you to try. Let us speak tomorrow, I am hopeful I can return the favour. In the meantime, enjoy your evening. You deserve some respite._

_Thrask_

The tone of it stirred up something in his gut. Words like brave, deserve… they stuck in him. There wasn’t anything brave, just right. He didn’t deserve anything. It was just. Right. The right thing to do. Didn’t people put any stock in that any more? Once it felt like they were all just trying to do something just for each other. Make the most out of a tough lot. Now what were they all? Slave pushers and cruel masters?

He crumpled the letter in his palm, putting it to one side for now along with such thoughts, and returned to watch his companion undress.

It was not a strip-tease. Not an unwrapping. This was not a job, it seemed, just somebody at the end of a long day peeling away the worst of it. Serendipity had started to unmask. The blouse and outer corset were gone, leaving an ornate breast band that Samson watched fall away, bringing with it two soft silk padded breasts, stitched with a beautiful precision. Hands reached up to the eyes, and he was surprised as eyelashes were pulled clean off as if they were nothing. Next, a thick cream went on the face, scraped off by what looked like a blunt razor, taking away thick kohl and rouge. Lastly, when all traces of the mask of a face were gone, this new stranger stepped out of their skirts and smalls, revealing their nakedness and smiling.

“Hello.”

“Hello,” Samson replied, feeling the hoarseness of his throat. His companion was younger than he had thought, slender and boyish and coy. The smile he was used to, Serendipity’s controlled smirk, was replaced by the warmth and teeth and dimples of this stranger. They looked radiant.

“What should I call you,” he asked in earnest. “Is it… different?”

“Sam,” came the answer, as Sam came and sat by him. “Here it’s Sam. Which is a bit confusing, I grant you.”

“Not if you call me Raleigh.”

It was a name he’d not used in years. A name belonging to a different life, something far away and yet for this moment, it seemed to fit just fine. Maybe for tonight, he thought to himself, maybe it could fit again.

“Raleigh. I like that name.”

“So did I, once.”

Sam reached out to him, stroking along his jaw with the lightest touch. Maker, how long had it been? A brush against his cheek. The simplest pleasure of human contact not bought or traded.

Or maybe this was.

“You don’t have to sleep with me, you don’t owe me anything,” he found himself saying. He couldn’t quite bring himself to take the hand away all the same. “I didn’t do it for any bloody good reason. Just something to do.”

Sam laughed at that, reaching the other hand up and pulling his face closer. He could smell the remnant of a sweet perfume of rose oil on their breath.

“It’s not about that,” came the answer, hot and close to his lips. “Your kindness. It… appeals to me. To me. There’s not enough of it in the world and… I want this.”

He chuckled, turning his head and kissing the inside of their wrist. “You have terrible taste.”

That made Sam laugh, and it was so different from the controlled laugh of Serendipity's that Samson had heard a hundred times before. It was free and toothy and made their whole body shake, and he was struck by how much of a privilege this was. To be allowed into this space, a private space. To be given this kindness. To share in something so intimate once more.

“Maybe you’re right. Terrible taste. But I want you.”

His hand was guided to a half-hard cock. The contact made him shudder, but his eyes did not leave Sam's eyes. They were warm. Inviting. At ease.

“Do you still want me, Raleigh?”

The answer was easy, simple and right, and spilled from him a hundred more times before the night was done. 


End file.
